Old things can become new.
New things can become old.
New things can become holy.
—Talmudic saying
Excerpt Two: (Upon seeing a picture of Jesus in Gethsemane and not knowing him)
...This last picture caught his attention. It was larger than the
Excerpt 1: Opening scene
Yesod Chai Eleazer pulled his black coat around his spare and
hunched frame and hurried toward the synagogue ahead. Gray,
drizzling rain fogged his thick glasses, cutting off the world ahead
of his eyes. “Vay is mere,” he complained to the rain running off
the rim of his black hat. “Meshuga rain.” He moved faster,
knowing that in five minutes he would be late for Friday night
services, which he never missed. The winter night obliterated any
view of a sundown to mark the start of Shabbat. He had visions
that the nine other men needed for the minyan tonight were all
hurrying, too. For it was better in the eyes of the Eternal One if,
gathered like one body at the doors of God’s house, all ten men
entered His sanctuary as one to begin the traditional services.
A moment later he saw the familiar brownstone building,
Temple B’nai Israel, a narrow brown monolithic presence in the
gloom. He sighed in relief that only one, Strasser, had arrived. He
could tell by the man’s huddled apparition. Gelber soon arrived,
pacing impatiently in front of the door. Valenkov and Malkhot,
two of the best singers, converged from other directions. He saw
them greet each other in the rain. Then Gevurah, the attorney,
whooshed up to the curb and stepped out of his Cadillac. He was
always prompt, Yesod remembered with a cynical grunt.
“God’s laws are immutable, and His timetables do not allow
us much latitude of negotiation,” Gevurah would say. He was the
very tick of time, never without both his wristwatch and his
father’s legacy to him, a 24-carat gold pocket watch, carried in his
side pocket, against his hip. He also wore a pager on his belt in
case important clients discovered the need for his services day or
night. Gevurah often fiddled with these several devices so they
would work in that perfection of tireless harmony that he expected
from all things, human or divine. Now eager to enter the sanctuary,
his key pushed into the brass slit of the lock. He deftly turned
it and the echo of its click sounded emptily in the maw of blackness
that gaped inside the building.
Excerpt Two: (Upon seeing a picture of Jesus in Gethsemane and not knowing him)
...This last picture caught his attention. It was larger than the
rest, a good print maybe 24x36. There was only one figure, a man
kneeling beside a thick, wide tree trunk. Yesod guessed it was an
olive. A sheaf of white light began at the top of the painting and
fell liberally across the man’s upraised face and shoulders. The
branches and leaves made a safe bower above the man’s head. The
painting’s background was somber gray, giving the appearance of
morning mist. Yesod felt sudden compassion for the praying man,
as though the artist had happened upon a stranger during an
intensely private moment.
He studied it further. It could have been a photograph. Its
subject’s fervent expression made him wonder whether he looked
like that when he prayed in his room or on High Holy Days. The
painting was disturbing because of its simple power. Yesod stood
as if rooted there for several minutes, not wanting to move, but
he did not know why. He felt a new quietude come over him,
almost happiness. Some Jew on his knees, Yesod thought, feeling like
he’d just happened upon something of great value. Who would
paint a picture like that? He wondered how old it was, he’d never
seen it in all the years of coming to visit. Just like Ali to take in junk.
Someone would buy it to cover a hole in a wall. Yesod wondered
uneasily why it moved him so. He laughed out loud and turned
quickly away.
It is perhaps the most instantly identifiable mark of a Jew.
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